Counting Stars
by Sherlock River Hekate
Summary: John returns home from work one day. And Sherlock is being a bit peculiar. Johnlock at the end.


Stepping out of the cab, John had to smile. He'd had a long, quite boring day at surgery. Miraculously, he hadn't heard from Sherlock for the majority of the day. Now he was looking forward to getting back to the apartment and having a nice cup of tea. With a sense of contentment, John opened the front door.  
"Afternoon Mrs. Hudson," He called as he walked towards the stairs.  
"How are you, dear?" She asked walking out to greet him.  
"I'm good," He replied with a smile, "Sherlock upstairs?"  
"I believe he is," she replied with her own smile.  
John took his leave and walked up the stairs.

Then John stopped in the doorway, the shock evident on his face.  
"Sherlock," He said, the amazement barely hidden in his voice. "What are you doing?"  
The consulting detective was lying on his back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. This wasn't the unusual part. The unusual thing was the noise that was playing in the lounge room of the flat. There was a song playing, and it wasn't a classical song from Sherlock's violin.  
"What does it look like, John?" He replied, his baritone sounding bored as usual. "I'm listening to music".  
John got over his shock, and walked further into the room.  
"I can see that, Sherlock," He walked to stand by the detective, " I was just wondering why you are listening to THIS music?" John had identified the noise in the room, it was pop music.  
There was no reply to John's question and John gave up for now. He would get an answer from the consulting detective later.

"Right, Sherlock," John started as they were sitting watching telly. Well, John was watching telly and Sherlock was sitting there glaring at the TV and correcting its numerous mistakes. Most people wouldn't have noticed the slight change in his posture, but after spending that much time with Sherlock, John had become much more observant.  
John tried again.  
"Sherlock, what was with the music this afternoon?"  
Sherlock sighed petulantly, he knew there was no way he could avoid answering John forever. The lanky detective turned slowly to face his blogger.  
"I was curious about the notion that songs can remind people of others," The dark haired man, trying to sound uninterested.  
"And what did you conclude?" John asked, his interest piqued.  
Sherlock cleared his throat slightly, hoping that the questions would end soon.  
"I,ah, I concluded that indeed songs can remind one of other people," Sherlock willed himself to stop talking but the scientist in him had to continue listing his results. "Particularly if the person they are thinking of is well known to them."  
John had to smile at that, and then came the inevitable question. The one Sherlock had been hoping wouldn't be asked.  
"So who did that song remind you of?" John asked, quite interested to know.  
"You," Sherlock said slowly, "The song I was listening to reminded me of you." He hoped the conversation would end there. Unfortunately for Sherlock, John's curiosity had not been satisfied, he wanted to know more.  
"How does that song remind you of me?" He asked, smiling at the thought.

"All the lyrics in general, but there are a few that could have been written particularly about you," Sherlock knew it wasn't logical to blush but his body had other ideas. "Everything that kills me makes me feel alive, in particular. From the day I met you I knew that you needed the thrill of the chase. So, ah, the experiment was a success." He finished lamely. John nodded and the conversation finished there, much to Sherlock's relief.

Later that night, Sherlock was standing by the window with his violin in his hand just staring out to the street. Part of his mind registered that John was humming, a tune that his brain recognised as familiar.  
"Lately I've been, I've been losing sleep. Dreaming about the things that we could be.." Sherlock's deep voice hummed out softly.  
"Huh," John said, startled out of his own thoughts, "What was that Sherlock? Sorry, I was elsewhere."  
"It was nothing," Sherlock said, keeping his focus directly out the window at the street below.  
John gave Sherlock a strange look, it wasn't like him to act as if he hadn't said anything.  
"No, Sherlock," He said with a frown, "What did you say?"  
With a small sigh Sherlock decided to reply.  
"It was a line from the sing you were humming," He said simply, not wishing to repeat that exact line.  
"Ah,"John replied, and then he realised which line Sherlock was singing. "Umm, Sherlock, why that line…?"  
"It's a line from the song," The detective snapped, thankful for the coolness of the window, "That's all."  
John knew from the tone of his friend's voice that the conversation wasn't going to go any further, so he let it be.

The next morning, after a terrible night's sleep due to constantly thinking , John Watson walked down to the kitchen for breakfast. He was greeted by a dishevelled looking Sherlock sitting on the couch plucking at his violin. A tune, one which John's sleepy brain couldn't quite identify, was drifting to him.  
"Tea, Sherlock?" John called from the kitchen, having already switched the kettle on. As he expected, there was no reply from the detective.  
John walked out, two cups of tea in his hands, and went over to where Sherlock was sitting. As he handed over the mug, John's brain decided to recognise the melody.  
"Lately I've been, I've been losing sleep. Dreaming about the things that we could be." John murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.  
John turned beet red, and Sherlock stopped playing, placing the violin on the floor and taking up his thinking pose. 

"I have come to a conclusion," Sherlock announced a couple of hours later.  
John looked up from the book he was reading, and was startled by the seriousness of the look on Sherlock's face.  
"And what conclusion would that be, Sherlock," John asked calmly, knowing that was the answer his flat mate was looking for.  
"I have discovered why that particular line was the first one to come to mind when I heard you humming," Sherlock answered plainly. John looked at him, waiting for him to continue.  
"I," Here Sherlock stopped, and looked uncharacteristically unsure of himself. "I believe I may have romantic feelings for you."  
John stared at Sherlock, disbelief written all over his face. Sherlock glanced across the room, and his face fell when he saw how John was looking at him.  
"I'm sorry," Sherlock mumbled, before rising from the couch and starting towards his room.  
"Oi," John called out, stopping Sherlock before he left the room. Sherlock turned on the spot, his dressing gown swirling around him. He looked at John, who was smiling slightly.  
"Love you too, you sod."


End file.
